


What Binds Us

by TheSkyIsALie



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Red String of Fate, Romance, Tim Drake-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 15:36:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17470289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSkyIsALie/pseuds/TheSkyIsALie
Summary: With the strange ability to see the red strings of fate, Tim had always known many secrets - some of which he wished he had never learnt.





	What Binds Us

**Author's Note:**

> For go-n-ef on Tumblr as part of the JayTim Secret Santa that I took up in place of someone else. Hope you like it!

For many years of his younger life, Tim hadn’t thought he was special. The red string had been tied around his own little finger but not his parents’, though he’d never questioned why. For many years, Tim didn’t wonder where his string lead to nor why he was the only one with one - simply learning to move around the string that trailed behind him wherever he went and keep from tripping over it.

 

It was only after Tim’s first social party at the age of four - the first time his parents had taken him out to show him off to their many friends and fake their smiles and tell lies of their pride. It was only then that Tim noticed others with strings, too - ladies dressed so prettily in their dresses and stood beside men in expensive, tailored suits, the little red thread connecting their close hands together. Many people’s strings had lead out of the room, caught on the open doorway and disappearing out into the world. Tim had wondered how many of those people knew where they lead to.

When Tim had arrive home later that night - sleepy and left for his nanny to undress him and send him to bed, he asked about the strings - about the thin threads of red that he had seen connecting so many people. His nanny had looked surprised by his question, before she had smiled politely and told him simply,

“I believe few people can see them, Timothy - the red strings are meant to connect people to their fated ones so that they can one day find each other.”

“Can you see them?” Tim had asked as he was lead into his bedroom, studying the string tied around his own little finger.

“I can’t - and I don’t believe your parents can, either, as I’ve never heard them mentioned in this house before.”

“Mom and dad don’t have strings.” Tim admitted as he climbed into bed, “Does that mean they don’t have a fated one?”

“I don’t know, Timothy.” his nanny answered honestly, tucking him in before bidding him goodnight and leaving Tim alone.

 

When Tim was five he would laugh as he watched Batman moving over Gotham’s skyline - his red string getting shorter and shorter as he closed in on Catwoman and whatever she had stolen that night. He would mourn the lack of a fate thread around the little finger of someone as joyful as Robin - someone so full of life, who deserved the happiness the strings lead to more than anyone else. He would wonder why the red string would never appear in his photographs - why he would never be able to show another their beauty.

 

When the second Robin replaced Dick Grayson, Tim had frowned at the lack of a fate thread tied to the new Boy Wonder, too. This Robin was different from the last - where Dick had been the light to Batman’s dark, Jason was the hope to his fear. Jason was so much to so many people - and the simple fact that the one person that gave so much to others would get nothing in return was _unfair_.

Tim had found himself disliking the strings numerous times throughout his young life - how they proved his parents could never be truly happy together, how they ruined his own chances of being with anyone other than one person in his whole life. The first time he saw Robin’s empty finger in person, with only one thread of red trailing after the Dynamic Duo, was when he found himself truly hating those strings.

 

When Tim was twelve his red string fell loose. The slight pressure around his little finger that no others baring a string seemed to feel grew lighter and lighter as it unwound. Tim had been sat at home, alone as usual, when his heart had sunk to his stomach as he’d watched his own little fate thread fall to the ground and disappear, as if burning to ashes in a second.

What had happened? Had his other half died? Had they found someone else and didn’t need him anymore? Was he so unwanted that even the one person in the world that should seek his presence didn’t need him either? Or had the fates simply decided he was no longer deserving of someone?

No one had been home in the days Tim had spent crying - though for that, at least, he was grateful. How would he ever explain crying over this to his parents - to people who didn’t even _believe_ in the red strings? Tim had stayed alone in his room - quiet and unable to stop the tears and the twitching of his little finger from the new, empty weightlessness he felt there.

 

Tim had never told Bruce he could see the strings - never wanted to have to break the news as to who exactly Batman’s fated one was, and never wanted to tell Dick that no matter how much he sort for the right person, true love would never be possible for him.

The red strings could bring tragedy so easily despite their purpose - could destroy someone’s hopes of happiness and betray their trust in fate. Tim didn’t want a hand in that - didn’t want to ever have to use the strings to navigate a crime scene or lead him to a criminal, so he never told Bruce they even existed.

 

When Tim was fifteen he found the end of a fate thread. He had been alone on a case that had taken him to England - scouting out a warehouse in a busy port city that would be housing a high grade drugs dealing later that night. The string had been caught on an old, rusted crane that stood out in the loading docks of the warehouse and, despite Tim’s vow to never involve the thread’s existence in a case, his curiosity had gotten the better of him.

Tim rarely found fate threads caught - as from his experience the little red strings were either light enough to shift about on even a single sigh of breath or were somehow able to move around on their own accord. He had never much questioned how the fates operated the threads, in all honesty - why they never tangled or got trapped in doorways, how they didn’t trail the exact path of the ones they connected and rather lead straight to them.

Tim didn’t know how fate threads were manipulated or how they existed in the first place, as he had decided from a young age that lest he dedicate his life to their research, something that defied all science like the strings should not be questioned too far.

This string, however, caught out in the cold of the abandoned loading docks, connected to only one person instead of two - this string baffled Tim like no other had. Had whoever had been connected disappeared? Perhaps an accident had occurred on the docks and they’d lost their life?

But surely then the fate thread would simply disappear as Tim’s had, since no connection could be maintained with only one person as a part of it. Then, maybe they had somehow abandoned their connection and left their string alone and severed - with someone still tied to a hope that could now never be fulfilled at the other end.

The sound of a car engine pulling up to the warehouse on the opposite side of the loading docks had distracted Tim from his thoughts, and he fled back into the rafters of the building to watch as the deal commenced - ignoring the twitching of his little finger as he did so.

Later that night, however, in a hotel room high above the port city where he had left the severed end of that little red string - Tim had cried again for the first time in many years over the loss of his own fated one and a happiness he had come to terms with never obtaining.

 

The first time Tim had met the Red Hood - ducking a jagged blade that threatened to slice open his throat were he not fast enough - he had been _distracted_ by a heavy burn of jealousy in his heart. Why should the Red Hood get a fate thread? 

The little curl of red around the Hood’s dark gloves stood out in the low light - the wisp of string dancing with the criminal’s movements as he lunged at Tim over and over again. Tim could only scowl each time the thread caught the light of the street lamps outside, more angry with its existence than he was with actually being attacked.

Why, when people who deserved true happiness like Dick and Kon and Babs didn’t get a red string, someone like the _Red Hood_ did?

Tim had escaped the Hood’s first attack that night with his life and a scar that would last him a lifetime - as well as a raw hatred that even though _he_ should have whatever happiness he was destined for taken from him, somehow the fates still thought the Red Hood was deserving.

 

Tim had been working a case with Dick when he stumbled upon the second end of a fate thread he had ever seen. They had been following a case of certain supposedly magical artifacts being smuggled into Gotham - the case having been fairly slow moving until one of the dealers they had been tracking was found dead in an alleyway.

Red Robin had been investigating the crime scene with Nightwing - mostly searching for evidence of magic having been used in the murder - when he had spotted a red string leading up to the rooftop above the alley.

Scaling the fire escape quickly, Tim hoped to find the string trailing off in a direction he could later track. He still remained faithful to his vow of ignoring the strings’ existence when working as Red Robin, but to see one atop a roof either ment it belonged to a fellow vigilante of Gotham or it belonged to their criminal - and should the latter be the case, perhaps he could at _least_ get an idea as to which direction they had headed.

But the string was caught - curled around the slats of an air vent with its single severed end fluttering in the chill breeze.

“Red?” Dick’s voice had called from behind him, Tim snatching his hand away from where he had begun to reach out for the string and concealing the twitching of his little finger behind his back as Nightwing jumped up to the rooftop beside him, “You find something?”

“No,” Tim lied easily, turning to face his brother, “something caught the light, but it was just a piece of glass.”

Nightwing nodded, flipping back down into the alleyway without a question, Red Robin following him down to continue the investigation. Though, when Tim returned to the scene later that night - after he had departed from Dick and was on his way home - the severed fate thread was gone.

 

When Tim found out who the Red Hood was, he was baffled for a completely different reason to the rest of the family. Someone rising from their own grave didn’t seem too far fetched, considering everything they had all been through and witnessed - despite how everyone else seemed unwilling to accept Jason was back immediately.

Rather, what baffled Tim was that Jason had been without a red string when he’d died, but somehow had gained one when he’d come back - and Tim found himself regretting never looking into exactly how the fates operated their threads a little more, because it simply didn’t make _sense_.

For Jason to gain a fated one through death couldn’t be possible, because such a thing would mean death had _changed_ his fate which would defy the meaning of having a _fate_ to begin with.

But Jason _did_ have one now, and despite all the things Tim had first thought when the elder had come back, Jason had changed. Jason deserved happiness just like Bruce deserved Selina and Steph and Cass deserved each other and Damian deserved whoever he would one day meet.

Tim would never find true happiness, and though he couldn’t deny he was more than a little jealous of those who still bore their strings, he could at least be pleased for the people that had what he didn’t. Tim rarely mourned the loss of his own fated one - whoever they were - but sometimes he still wished he could have continued on with the hope of one day finding true happiness.

 

Tim had been benched for a few weeks with a broken arm - an injury he’d sustained from his own miscalculations and the fact that he couldn’t jump as far as he’d hoped with a twisted ankle. Surprisingly, he hadn’t found himself as irritated with being stuck indoors as he usually did - though that could be attributed to him staying at the manor rather than retreating to one of his own apartments.

Tim had found himself helping Damian with his patrol reports more often than he’d expected, and the time together had resulted in the cast on the his right arm being covered in bright colours and little drawings. Dick had stuck around more to bother Tim into some ‘quality bonding time’ as well - dragging the younger into the den to whine when he lost at every video game and fall asleep halfway through each movie.

And then there had been Jason, who had been there when Tim had broken his arm in the first place - had taken him back to the cave on his bike and sat with him as Alfred had reset the bone. Jason had only left the manor for patrol each night, surprising Tim every time he came back until the younger had come to expect it - waiting in the cave for the low rumble of the Red Hood’s bike before he went to bed to make sure Jason would be there again in the morning.

Though, Jason didn’t spend much time in the manor, instead sticking to the cave where he would work on his bike or train with the equipment - and as the manor was so quiet during the day while Damian was at school and Bruce at work, Tim would usually find himself following Jason down there.

Which was exactly where he was then - curled up on the large chair of the bat computer and pretending to work on a cold case on one of the screens. But he wasn’t. Tim was watching Jason - and Tim knew Jason knew he was watching him, but the younger couldn’t bring himself to drag his eyes away.

Because there was something simply mesmerizing about the way the man moved as he fought, even if it was only on the training mats. The raw power behind every punch and unrestricted strength that fueled each movement had Tim’s undivided attention in a very impure way - though that was too far for the younger to admit.

Jason was a summary of everything Tim used to wish he could be - tall and handsome, broad and muscular and with all the strength that matched the appearance. Nowadays, Tim was much more content with his petit height and slight build and Jason was less what Tim wish he could be and rather simply what he _wanted_.

Of course, Tim knew it wasn’t right of him - he knew that Jason had someone else he was meant for. Someone he would one day meet and be happy with and Tim knew he had no place in that. Tim had known from a young age that the fate threads would interfere with any potential romance he could have, whether he actually had a string not, and this was just further proof of that.

But as much as the threads could be a burden that kept him from any indulgence, they were also a blessing that saved Tim from the later heartache that he would certainly feel should he ever actually peruse a love interest. A love interest like Jason - who’s fate thread lead away from the training mats and out through one of the cave’s exits, into the open world and connecting to someone that wasn’t Tim.

Tim sighed and his little finger twitched on the armrest of the chair. He knew he had feelings for Jason, even if he didn’t want to acknowledge how strong those feelings were - but knowing that those feelings would only lead to eventual pain, he could do nothing with them but wait and be happy for the elder when whoever was connected to his thread was stood at Jason’s.

 

Tim was steadily becoming more and more irritated - having to watch his every step and be cautious in his own home, no longer able to simply relax and switch off from the constant awareness of his surroundings.

Everyone seemed to have noticed that Tim wasn’t his usual self, too - though the concern had quickly shifted to amusement when it had become apparent to his family that rather than being troubled by anything, Tim had just become _clumsy_.

Which was where the irritation came in, because Tim certainly didn’t appreciate being laughed at for something he had no control over. His brothers simply didn’t realise how lucky they were not to have the burden of his sight - no idea of the feeling of being about to trip over _any second_ because those little red strings of fate had come to _cover_ the manor almost overnight a few days prior.

Tim had long since resigned himself to never truly understand how the strings worked, and no matter how many theories and rules he came up for them, they would always find a way to contradict him. He didn’t know why sometimes he could touch the strings and why sometimes his fingers would simply phase through like other’s did - but somehow the uncertainty made being around such a tangle of the fate threads worse, as there was never a clear way to tell if he could simply walk through a bunch of the red _tripwires_ in a doorway or if he would end up flat on his face for the attempt.

Thus, the family had been watching Tim move about the manor in the most peculiar way over the last few days - eyes constantly glued to the floor and taking larger steps than necessary in certain places, dipping at the waist as if to duck beneath something and sometimes even stopping dead in a corridor to turn and walk the long way to his destination instead.

The worst part, however, had been when Tim had taken almost an entire day to walk the whole winding length of the red threads in hopes of finding who exactly they had all come from - expecting to be lead out of the manor sooner or later, only to find himself face to face with Jason sat at the kitchen table with a mug of tea and no idea as to how much trouble he was causing for the younger.

“You alright, darlin’?” Jason had asked, one brow raised as he looked up from the novel he had open on the table. Tim had paused where he stood, the little red string that connected straight to Jason’s little finger held loosely in his hand - suddenly feeling slightly embarrassed over wandering back and forth in the halls of the manor for a day as if he’d lost an earring somewhere.

“I’m- I’m fine.” Tim had squeaked, feeling his face heating beneath Jason’s slightly judgmental stare.

“Ya sure? Ya’ve been actin’ _weirder_ than normal fer the passed few days now - think Alfie’s startin’ ta worry.”

“No, I’ve just been, uh- _thinking_.” Tim lied, “The cold cases I’ve been working on have me stumped... and I figured walking around a bit might help, rather than just staring at the screen.”

Jason remained silent for a little while - sharp gaze not leaving Tim’s form as the younger stayed routed to the spot, still acting as though he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Do what ya need ta get that brain a’ yours goin’, darlin’ - just try not ta scare the whole family while ya doin’ it.” he finally spoke, and Tim nodded quickly before hurrying out of the kitchen again, cheeks still pink.

Jason couldn’t help his smile the second the younger’s back was turned - overwhelmed by how damn _cute_ Timmy always managed to be. He still wasn’t sure what exactly it was that had taken up the younger’s attention over the passed few days - though he was sure Tim was bored stiff while he waited for his still broken arm to heal and was currently willing to find anything to occupy himself with.

Still, if Jason got to watch Tim slinking about the manor in those huge jumpers he only wore when he wasn’t going out and actually getting enough sleep for once while still being as distracted and adorable as he always was - then the elder certainly wasn’t complaining about a little more of the younger’s weirdness, too.

 

Tim sat down on his bed with a sigh, thankful that his room was apparently one of the only places Jason’s string still hadn’t yet found a way into. He was perplexed, to say the least - unable to fathom _why_ or _how_ the elder’s fate thread was taking up so much space.

Tim’s experience with the strings of fate had always suggested that no matter where a barer went, their thread would always directly lead to their fated one - cutting corners and allowing for no detours. But somehow Jason’s string was doing the exact opposite - trailing round the elder’s exact path of the manor as if he was actually producing the thread himself.

But he _knew_ threads could lengthen and shorten easily as fated ones moved further and closer to each other, and there was no reason for Jason’s not to do the same - no reason for it to be collecting around him like it couldn’t ravel itself back up like all others did. Unless-

Unless it was less that Jason’s thread was getting longer and more that the other end was getting closer - that his fated one was getting closer.

Tim felt his heart sink, suddenly a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach. If Jason’s fated one was getting closer - possibly even at such a rate that their thread was shortening slower than they were moving (hence its collecting around Jason) - then surely the elder would be meeting them soon. Surely it wouldn’t be long before they were in Gotham if they weren’t already, and surely all it would take was for Jason to go out into the city before he coincidentally bumped in to them and the rest would be history.

Tim knew it had been coming - Jason had a fate thread and he didn’t and he’d known from the very start that such a thing only meant that Jason had someone else while Tim was meant to be alone. He had only been playing a waiting game that allowed for Jason to be a distant hope he clung to - but now the game was over and Tim had missed a chance he’d never had to begin with.

His little finger twitched repeatedly where his hand rested at his hip on the duvet and Tim sighed heavily, clenching his fist tight in hopes of being able to ignore the lack of anything tied around that finger.

 

Tim woke with a heavy feeling of longing and loss in his stomach - the last few days after he’d discovered it was Jason’s fate thread that trailed the many hallways of the manor had been spent watching that same red string slowly decrease as it steadily retracted back to Jason.

Tim had been right - Jason’s thread hadn’t been coming _from_ the elder, it was coming _back_ to him - and yesterday Tim had only seen the red string overlap twice on Jason’s old paths of the manor. The fate thread had almost caught up to him, and so had his fated one and Tim’s count down of the days until he lost Jason to someone he had probably never even met was almost over.

With a long sigh of breath, Tim pulled himself out of bed - collecting the plate and cutlery he had used the previous night when he’d had dinner in his room, avoiding the family meal downstairs. Tim knew he was moping - but with Selina having come to visit and the prospect of having to watch both her and Bruce be obnoxiously _coupley_ while he ate as he silently dealt with the pain of losing _another person_ was something he simply hadn’t been able to bring himself to suffer through.

If Dick had stayed over last night, Tim planned to recruit him for some of the elder’s much loved ‘bonding time’ - as, if there was anything Dick was good at, it was distracting his brothers from whatever sort of troubles they were facing. And as Tim’s eyes trailed the hallways as he moved towards the stairs, noting the new absence of any of Jason’s fate thread, he knew that a little _distracting_ was definitely something he could use.

The voices in the kitchen could be heard from down the hall - Damian arguing loudly with Jason and Selina laughing at the family’s antics. Tim didn’t lift his eyes from the floor as he made his way into the room, though he almost wished he had when the first flash of red he had seen that morning caught his gaze.

Tim felt the plate slip from between his fingers, heard it shatter on the tile of the kitchen floor - though he didn’t register the sound, didn’t register that all of the occupants of the room were suddenly watching him - didn’t register anything but the little severed end of the red thread that lay on the floor - not even the hot tears that welled up in his eyes and quickly spilled over to trickle down his cheeks.

“Timmy? Darlin’, what happened? You okay?” And Tim only returned to the world around him when the end of the thread his eyes had been fixed on twitched - twitched because Jason had moved, stood to make his way over to Tim quickly.

Tim blinked up into Jason’s concerned eyes, to the warm hand resting gently on his shoulder and to the shards of the broken plate at his feet.

“I’m- I’m fine.” he managed, “I just knocked my arm on the doorway - I’m fine. Sorry.”

And even with the effort he made to support the lie - reaching his left hand up to hold onto his cast and ducking his head a little to hide his face, as if embarrassed by the tears from pain - Tim’s mind was racing.

Jason’s fate thread was cut. Jason didn’t have a fated one.

But he still had a thread. Had it only just happened? Had someone been attached to that cut end until very recently and the thread just hadn’t disappeared yet? Perhaps there had been a confrontation while Tim had been asleep and they were no longer meant to be together? Maybe there had been an accident and Jason’s thread had just continued to pull towards him even without anyone attached any longer?

“Are you sure, darlin’? Ya don’t look like yer fine.” Jason pressed, still stood so close to Tim with one warm, big hand pressed comfortingly to his shoulder. Tim looked up, finding Jason still watching him with so much concern for him in those dazzling green eyes - clueless to the loss he should be feeling, to how much had just been taken from him.

But Tim knew - and all he could feel in that moment was the overwhelming weight of pain for Jason, knowing first hand just how lonely it was to live knowing you were no longer meant for happiness.

Tim cried for Jason - hot tears rolling down his cheeks and loud, hiccoughed breaths. He could hear the slight commotion of the family reacting to his sudden distress, though their voices tuned out completely to Jason’s low hum as he shushed Tim’s sobs.

“Hey, c’mon, Babybird, ‘s alright. If it’s that bad why don’t get get ya down ta the cave, hm? Give it a quick scan ‘nd make sure ya ain’t hurt yaself anymore.” he soothed, running a hand through Tim’s soft hair.

Tim almost felt guilty about allowing Jason to think it was Tim’s own pain that was the cause of his tears - though the guilt of stealing Jason’s attention when something so terrible had happened to the other and not himself was much worse. Jason was now alone in the world just as Tim had been from the age of twelve, and all the elder was paying attention to was Tim’s second hand pain for the loss.

Tim was suddenly hoised up into the air, held securely in strong arms as Jason cradled him against his chest.

“C’mon, darlin’, let’s get ya checked out.” the elder hummed as Tim stuttered over drawing in a deep breath - caught on the shock of suddenly being lifted into such a caring hold. Still, he held onto Jason - winding his good arm around the elder’s neck and letting the casted one rest against his back, pressing his face into the soft material of Jason’s t-shirt in an attempt to muffle his cries as he was carried from the room.

Down in the cave, Tim’s sobs had turned to painful, full bodied hiccoughs, and he watched through the blur of his tears as the severed end of Jason’s fate thread trailed after their steps. He was set down on one of the medical beds, thankful that no one else was down in the cave that morning - and when Jason pulled away to face him properly he only saw the same raw concern in the elder’s eyes that had been there in the kitchen.

“Timmy, tell me what’s really goin’ on.” Jason prompted, brows drawn together as he ran a hand through Tim’s hair, bushing his fringe from his eyes.

The request made Tim startle a little, taken off guard by being found out and confronted so suddenly. Though, Jason clearly wasn’t upset by Tim’s lies of injuring his arm further - instead concerned about what _else_ could have happened that warranted such distraught tears from the younger.

“I- I don’t… _Jay_ , you-” Tim tried, searching desperately for a way to tell Jason that it was _him_ he was crying for without telling him about the fate threads and letting out his biggest secret. But Jason looked so _worried_ as he watched Tim scrub at the tears that still ran down his cheeks and hiccough over an unprepared explanation and-

The brush of something on his hand caught Tim’s attention. For a split second, he had thought perhaps Jason had moved to hold his hand in comfort - but Jason was still cradling the side of his face with his left hand and the right rested on the medical bed beside the younger’s hip. Jason hadn’t moved - and whatever had brushed against the soft skin of the back of Tim’s hand shifted again, moving between his ring and little finger.

And when Tim dragged his gaze away from Jason, he found it wasn’t the elder that had moved at all, but rather his _thread_ \- the little string of bright red curling around Tim’s little finger and intertwining with itself to attach to Tim, immovable.

Jason watched as Tim lifted his casted arm up, face expressionless despite the tears that still ran down soft cheeks as he stared at his hand, little finger twitching as it so often seemed to as Tim’s ever-busy mind began to work. The elder brushed his thumb over Tim’s cheekbone, prompting the younger’s attention once more, and pretty blue eyes flickered back to him - bright and startled - before a fresh wave of hot tears began to flow down Tim’s face.

“J-Jay,” Tim stuttered, reaching out to grip Jason’s t-shirt with a slightly shaky hand.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?”

“How- how do you feel about me?”

The question certainly hadn’t been what Jason expected - wanting so _bad_ to help Tim with whatever was distressing the younger enough to bring him to such hysterical tears and instead being asked to give away his deepest feelings.

He loved Tim, of course he did - the younger was so damn cute and cleaver, so selfless and sweet, so funny and witty and warm. Tim was everything Jason had ever wanted so much more that he simply didn’t see how he _couldn’t_ have fallen for him - but when Jason opened his mouth to attempt to word such feelings to Tim, he was interrupted.

“I love you.” Tim breathed out, grip on Jason’s shirt tightening and even though Jason knew he should reply - should find his voice and tell Tim very clearly that he felt the same way, all he could think to do in that moment was bring his other hand up to cradle the back of Tim’s head and draw the younger in for a sweet, long awaited kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Visit my Tumblr at the-sky-is-a-lie or come and chat on Discord at #7527


End file.
